


Sleepless in the Wild

by aravenwood



Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Sleep Deprivation, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: During a long hunt, Jaskier finds himself struggling with the side effects of too many nights without sleep.Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompts "hallucinations" and "sleep deprivation".
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947343
Comments: 4
Kudos: 115
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Sleepless in the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So hallucinations was a veeeery difficult prompt for me but it was also the one out of the three for today that I was most interesting and that I personally most enjoy writing about. I was wracking my brain for ages and ages yesterday and eventually decided I was going to take a break and write for another prompt. I got about halfway through a fic for sleep deprivation, paused to reread what I had and suddenly went "wait...sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations!" 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Jaskier was sure that he was losing his mind. 

According to some people he knew, he’d lost it years ago the day he’d decided to travel with Geralt. Some days he agreed with them, on the days when he found himself covered in monster guts or having to stitch up wounds on Geralt’s scarred body. But there was always the stories to repay him for his efforts - and the occasional bit of gold, when Geralt was feeling nice enough to share - and remind him about why he’d decided on such a dangerous lifestyle.

But this…no story was worth this.

He and Geralt had been on the road for several days, tracking down a monster which had been terrorising a nearby village. The men who had hired them - because Jaskier liked to tell himself that he was just as important in these hunts as Geralt and his giant, terrifying swords and awesome witcher abilities - had claimed that it would be “a quick hunt”, that they’d found the monster’s nest but had been attacked before they could slay the beast. Except when he and Geralt had found the nest, it appeared to have been abandoned and they were left with no choice but to track the beast down. 

Tracking contracts were always exhausting, but never like this and never for so long. It had been…some days, he couldn’t remember exactly how many at this point, and they’d barely slept, only ate dried food which could be consumed on the move. And Jaskier was sure that it was getting to him. So sure because he remembered asking Geralt about the monster they were tracking, remembered Geralt giving him a surprisingly full description…

But he couldn’t remember what was said, or what the beast was. He couldn’t remember the name of the village or of the men who’d contracted them. And he knew they had told him because he remembered asking. The blanks in his memory were frightening, so frightening that he didn’t dare mention them to Geralt because there were monsters who could mimic people’s faces and knowing his luck Geralt would assume he’d been replaced by one of those.

What were they called again? He should know this, Geralt had warned him about them enough times and he was sure that he’d seen a few of them in his time…

Why didn’t he remember?

Worrying about his absent memories only added to his exhaustion and he found himself dragging his feet with his head hanging low. He could just make out Roach in his peripheral, encouraging him to keep moving forwards.

He didn’t even have the energy to speak or sing, or even think about singing, and that was just frightening.

He kept walking.

As he walked, he became aware of movement in the corner of his eye. Shadows encroaching on his vision. Hands reaching for him… He yelped and threw himself backwards, arms raised defensively over his face. Oh god the monster had found them, it had found them and Geralt hadn’t noticed and now it was going to eat him oh god he didn’t want to be eaten, he wanted to live he wanted to sing he wanted to-.

“Jaskier!”

Still hyperventilating, Jaskier shakily lowered his arms and found Geralt standing in front of him, staring with narrowed eyes. Roach stood behind him looking just as angry - or as angry as Roach could look, which was actually impressive for a horse. There was no monster in sight.

“Geralt..? Where did it..?” he asked, and couldn’t help but flinch at how weak his own voice sounded. He didn’t sound like himself at all and oh god Geralt really would think he was a monster.

Geralt’s left eyebrow inched upwards. “Stop pissing around,” he growled. “We’re almost there.”

Jaskier looked around. They were in the middle of a forest, no sign that they were “almost” anywhere. Where were they even going? He looked down at himself - green silk shirt and matching trousers, both splattered with dirt and stiff as if they hadn’t been given time to dry properly - and then at Geralt - filthy, no cloak and with one hand resting on the hilt of his steel sword. A hunt? Or were they just wandering like they sometimes did? Jaskier loved it when they wandered, he loved that but not as much as he loved long hunts. Or maybe they were going to a party, oh he loved parties he wondered if they would let him sing at this one maybe he should be coming up with new material or had he already come up with his setlist maybe he should check because nothing was worse than an underprepared musician after all…

“Jaskier!”

He flinched. “Yeah..?”

Geralt’s raised eyebrow fell as he frowned, an emotion that could have been either concern or constipation on his face. He took a step towards Jaskier and Jaskier stepped back, but wasn’t quite sure why. This only made Geralt’s frown deeper, and made his hand fall from his sword.

“Jaskier, focus. What’s going on?” Geralt asked, and his voice was so soft and careful that Jaskier wondered if he’d ever used that voice on anyone else. Geralt didn’t do gentle, didn’t do anything that wasn’t big and scary except when Jaskier _that_ sang song and then he got that strange half smile from Geralt and sometimes even a laugh if a huff even counted as a laugh-.

Geralt touched Jaskier’s face, a cold palm on his cheek. He forced their eyes to meet, except Jaskier found that he couldn’t make his eyes focus. Geralt’s face, so close to his, was blurred almost beyond recognition and Jaskier had to remind himself that this was Geralt, this wasn’t a monster. 

For several moments Geralt only stared at him, his expression unreadable. Finally he hummed and said, “you’re warm. Get on Roach.”

Jaskier was absently aware that he should be shocked, that he should be asking Geralt if one of them was dying and oh god what if he was dying what if Geralt was dying did witchers even die he was sure that they could but maybe not-.

He took a step towards Roach but stumbled, the world spinning in front of his eyes. He flailed out one arm and caught Geralt’s shoulder, clinging to it as he squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness. His legs were trembling, his whole body was trembling and he was scared, he was nauseous and he wanted to curl up beside a warm fire until he didn’t feel so terrible. He was vaguely aware of Geralt calling his name, of hands on his biceps and of his own heartbeat booming in his ears, but he couldn’t focus on any of it.

“Don’t feel good,” he managed to slur just as his knees buckled. The grip on his arms tightened and he felt himself being lowered to the ground. The moment his back found hard ground he tried to curl up against the shivers wracking his frame but the hands stopped him and held him still. He’d never felt this terrible, so drained that he couldn’t even hold his own head up and so exhausted that even a hard, wet ground felt better than even the most expensive beds he’d ever slept in.

He felt himself drifting off despite the urgent voice in his ear. Geralt, his foggy mind supplied. He had just enough energy before he passed out to lift a trembling arm, pat the witcher clumsily on the chest and slur out a half-hearted “night night, Geralt.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
